


unreliable expressions of temporal gratitude

by Casylum



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Screenplay/Script Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casylum/pseuds/Casylum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>on a chair that doesn't exist, on a floor that doesn't exist, in a building that barely exists, a message is found, recipient unknown</p>
            </blockquote>





	unreliable expressions of temporal gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> For [Sasha](http://blimeyblue.tumblr.com) in [Deb’s Secret Santa 2013](http://lemonorangelime.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The original prompt was: “Doctor Who: 11th Doctor x Reader (Anything cute)”. I hope I’ve done it justice, though the format isn’t something I’m used to writing, and I blame any and all shortcomings on my own incompetence.
> 
> May you have a Merry Christmas and a happy new year!

**FILE** : LT95-6F2G-25SS, CODE NAME ' _BELIEVE_ '  
**LOCATION** : TORCHWOOD, CARDIFF, WALES, UNITED KINGDOM  
**SUBJECT** : 'THE DOCTOR' AND ASSOC.  
**DATE ADDED** : 1500 GMT; 23RD DECEMBER 2013

 **ADDITIONAL NOTES** : What follows is the transcript of a DVD found taped to the back of an office chair on the thirteenth floor of a building in Cardiff, Wales, United Kingdom. It should be noted that at the time of the DVD’s retrieval, the person who got it was unaware that a) that building had no thirteenth floor, b) the building was a twenty-four hour gym with no office space, and c) Cardiff existed. The DVD was transported by relevant personnel to the nearby Torchwood headquarters. Intended recipient unknown. Please cross reference with Case 5X9E-6621-QR47, code name ‘ _SPARROW_ ’.

 

[Begin TRANSCRIPT]

[TOTAL RUN TIME: ~18:00]

 

(Title card flashes, reads ‘HELLO’ in several different languages in a dark blue font. Section One is selected. There are three sections total.)

 

~~~

 

[Begin SECTION ONE]

[RUN TIME: ~04:30]

 

(Section card flashes, reads ‘INTRO’ in black block letters written in what looks like Sharpie marker on a yellow legal pad.)

 

( _Indeterminate coughing, echoing like a soundstage, the tap of dress shoes on hardwood_ ) Is this on? I don’t—wait a minute, yes, there’s the light, it’s on! It’s on! Huzzah! Now, ( _hands clap together, palms rubbing_ ) let’s get started. Or is it ended? I honestly don’t—I’m getting off track. Hello! I’m the Doctor. ( _pause_ ) No, no, not like a medical doctor, like a Doctor. Can you hear the capital? I’m trying to put it in, Sarah Jane said I was always good at putting it in, but she never said _how_ and— ( _long pause_ ) Well. Focus. That’s what I—What _you_ , there’s emphasis there, remember that, you say it’s important, that’s what _you_ need to do. Focus. Right then, a recap: I’m the Doctor, ( _pause_ )  and I need your help. ( _pause_ ) What, I didn’t say that before? ( _pause_ ) Ridiculous of me to overlook that, but now it’s done. ( _pause_ ) What’s done? Dunno, me, you, this, everything, who knows? Depends on who you ask, who you trust, what you want to believe. That’s a strong thing, belief. It’ll keep you going in the bleakest of times. Do you believe? ( _pause_ ) Well, you’d better. It’ll help a great deal. Though, uh, and this is me trying to go off script a little here but it’s already _in_ the script so I guess I’m not really but I _must’ve_ at some point but whatever, that’s a paradox for another day. ( _pause_ ) Yes it is, don’t be a spoil sport. Anyway, what I was trying to say—will have said?—is that it sounds like, from this, that things can go one of two ways. Both of them end good, but ( _pause_ ) but the middle bits can get rough. And what’ll help smooth them out is belief. So. Try that, will you? ( _long pause, sounds of shifting fabric, breathing_ ) You should know: I can wait. I can wait as long as I need to for you to be ready. For you to believe. Though that’s only part of it, if I’m being honest, but you _will_ have to believe at some point, for anything to move forward. Suspend your logic, let go with your imagination. There are monks on the 7G world of Kalteroon who can fly through the air with the power of their own belief. The rest of the population can barely run without mecha suits, and they can fly. ( _pause_ ) Don’t be too quick to dismiss possibilities. In nine hundred years of time and space—more, now that I think of it, that’s the danger of using old quotes, sometimes you’re wrong even as you’re right—but still. No matter how long I have, or haven’t been kicking around, I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important. ( _pause_ ) What did I tell you about possibilities? ( _pause_ ) Right then, think about what I’ve said. Go to bed, mull it over, talk out loud, call your mother. Whatever you need to do. I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting. ( _pause, the shift of fabric, the tap of shoes starting to walk away, then coming back_ ) And please? Whatever you do? Please don’t wait too long. Even Time Lords get hungry, now and again. ( _shuffle of fabric, fade to black_ )

 

[End SECTION ONE]

 

~~~

 

[Begin SECTION TWO]

[RUN TIME: ~06:00]

 

(Section card flashes, reads ‘BELIEVE’ in letters that look like they’ve been cut out from newspaper headlines and pasted onto a piece of white printer paper.)

 

( _Tapping of a pen on a wood surface, faint click of a throat dry swallowing_ ) Ah, you’re back. Had a good long think, gotten yourself prepared, wrapped your mind around the impossibilities? ( _pause_ ) Good, good, now. The hard stuff. Or the sort of hard stuff. The middling stuff? Who knows. ( _pause_ ) No I do _not_ know, I’m a Time Lord, not a psychic. Which—that’s relevant. I’m a Time Lord. Time Lord. ( _here he devolves into what sounds like vocal exercises for about a minute, exercises that this transcriber isn’t even going to_ try _and get down right_ ) Right. Time Lord. Two hearts, one head, lots of brains, massively clever, bit genocidal, more than a tad angry, and uh... ( _pause_ ) lonely. At least that’s what Clara says. “You’re lonely, Doctor,” she’ll say, then kick me bodily onto the dancefloor. The genocidal bit, well, that’s from  an old enemy, and I suppose it’s true but ah, ( _long pause, rub of skin on skin_ ) I’ve got better. Uh. Sort of. Can’t talk about it. Anyway! ( _clap, thump of elbows on the wood of the desk_ ) Belief! That’s what we were discussing! I believe, now you believe—or you will believe—so we can get started. I can get started. Or ended. That’s where things get muddled. ( _pause_ ) I’m lost.  Not lost where, but lost when. On purpose, I would say. Donna would definitely say, Martha right behind her, and I’ve never been one to deny when someone’s right. ( _pause_ )  No, wait, that’s wrong, I’m usually first in line, if it’s something I don’t like, but this is me. I’ve got no choice. ( _sound of fingers going through hair, slight sigh_ ) Bit hard to avoid me, eh? But I _did_ try, for a bloody long time, and look where it’s got me. Locked up, stuck, immobile. Lost. Which is where you come in. ( _pause_ ) Eh, eh, eh, don’t sputter. It’s definitely you, it’s always been you, has never been anyone else. ( _pause_ ) _Belief_. Remember that. Never anyone not important, and no one is ever just _anyone_ , most especially you. So ( _cloth sliding down skin, crack of spine_ ).  You. Helping me. Get unlost. Right now. Right here. Are you ready for that? Because I’ve ( _tapping of pen against wood, continues through the rest of the section_ ) got a date, one I can’t put off any longer. So uh, where have I been? Where am I? Well,  I’ve ( _long pause, shifting of clothes, creak of wood_ ) ahem. I’ve been there. With you, I mean. For longer than you might think. Or shorter. I’m not sure, time goes oddly when you follow everything in order. ( _pause_ ) Just look around. It’s the holidays, and you’ve dragged me out again. Whatever’s oldest, the menorah your mom’s had since she was six, the sports ornament your dad’s frat buddies gave him in college, the kinara your grandma made for Kwanzaa in the seventies,  the Festivus pole your uncle gave you last year, the Diwali lamps you haven’t got ‘round to putting away yet. Whatever it is—you didn’t specify, and I wasn’t paying attention, which, probably, is why I’ve been lost for so long. ( _pause_ ) Whatever it is—I’m repeating myself, sorry—that’s where I am. Tucked up in a little pocket dimension in the place where the light curves, slipping away from time. And, you ( _pause_ ) yes, you, don’t start this again, I wouldn’t be—ahem. ( _pause_ ) Well, you know. I’m in there. And you need to let me out. ( _wheels scraping across a wood floor, fabric shifting against skin, the clatter of a forgotten pen, the tapping of shoes coming closer_ ) Oh, and, before you do anything rash: smashing isn’t always the answer. It is, sometimes, and it’s a fun answer, and a quick answer, and an easy answer. But this time, now, it’s not the answer. So, uh, don’t smash things. ( _fade to black_ )

 

[End SECTION TWO]

 

~~~

 

[Begin SECTION THREE]

[RUN TIME: ~07:30]

 

(Section card flashes, reads ‘FREEDOM’ in white spaces erased from what looks like a whiteboard that’s been completely colored in with dark blue marker.)

 

( _The scratch of a record player, slight breathing, the first strains of some sort of classical music_ ) Right, sorry to leave you in such a lurch, had to go. Clearly not _far_ , but you know. Things to do. I once met a girl who did nothing but make soufflés, even after she’d, ah—( _pause_ ) Never mind, not important. We’re almost done! Or, rather, you’re almost done. I mean, I’m reading off your script, which you wrote, and you’re the one that saves me because that’s what the script said— ( _pause, next section is a bit rushed_ ) and what you said, remember that, you give these to me, along with a warning, one that I clearly ignore, so here we are—( _goes back to normal speed_ ) so you’re doing most of the work. I’m just, ah— ( _shift of fabric_ ) flailing about. Anyway, I’ve been told, by this ( _rustle of paper_ ) that you’re to take what I’m in—whatever it is—and give me a wake up call. Literally? Maybe. Figuratively? Probably. I’ve been asleep for a long while, in both senses, and I need snapped back to what matters, to what’s ( _pause_ ) _important_. Did you know, it’s stupidly easy to lose track of time when you never check it? You can’t tell whether you’re coming or going, or whether it’s day or night, or what year it is. You just know that you _are_ , and that other places, other people, other things, they _are_ , too, and there you stand, all of you, just _being_ , and somehow, someway, time never enters into that. So you start thinking that you’ll never run out, never run out of time, never run out of _being_ , just because you haven’t seen a sunset in a thousand years. ‘The day hasn’t ended’, you think to yourself, ‘and it never will.’ But it has, and I must, so here you are. ( _pause_ ) Wake up time. ( _feet tapping away, the creak of hinges, the thump of a door, feet tapping back_ ) Wait. Before I go—or come, as it is—you should know, uh ( _pause_ ). Thank you. I just realized I didn’t know if I’d get to say that, even with everything that I’ve got, so. Thank you. I’m not looking forward to what’s coming—I don’t think anyone could—but I’m glad that, you know, before all that, you were here. Or there. Or everywhere. And I know what you’re thinking, and you should know that I’m totally off script, there’s nothing there after I tell you to wake me up. So this is all me. Thanking you. For helping me. For believing. In me, in yourself—since if you hadn’t believed _this_ , then I’d have never gotten your instructions, and then I’d be stuck a lot longer, this is all you here—in everything. Thank you. And, uh, ( _shifting fabric, skin through hair_ ), I couldn’t help but notice, from the items I listed off, but... ( _pause_ ) Merry Christmas. Chag Hanukkah Sameach. Joyous Kwanzaa. Festivus Greetings. Shub Diwali. Happy Holidays. ( _feet tapping away, creak of hinges, voice from a distance_ ) And thanks again. ( _tape runs for a few more minutes, silent, before running out_ )

 

[End SECTION THREE]

 

~~~

 

[End TRANSCRIPT]

 

 **AFTER NOTES** : The recipient of this DVD is unclear, as stated above. Clues present throughout the video are as follows:

  1. The letters ‘S’, ‘H’, and ‘A’ tapped out in morse code with a pen during SECTION TWO
  2. The Doctor’s bow tie changing from blue in SECTION ONE, to red in SECTION TWO, to white and gold in SECTION THREE
  3. Violin music in the background of SECTION THREE. One of our resident experts recognized some of it as the first part of Fuaré’s Violin Concerto, though they noted that the piece seemed to be complete, which Fuaré’s work most certainly isn’t.



  
If anyone reading this transcript has any idea of where to find the recipient of this DVD, please go to the center of Roald Dahl Plass, Cardiff, Wales, United Kingdom, and say the following whilst standing very still: ‘Laeti dies natalis Christi, et felix novus annus’.


End file.
